


une immense espérance a traversé ma peur

by paintedviolet



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternative Universe - No Silas University, Drama & Angst, Drama & Romance, F/F, Hollstein - Freeform, LaFerry (Eventually), Zeta Society BrOTP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedviolet/pseuds/paintedviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dystopia AU.</p><p>In a post-apocalyptic world, Carmilla wants nothing more than to be free of her mother's chains, and live life how she wants to. Which, of course, is near-impossible when your mother is proclaimed to be the one who brought peace to a war-ravaged Earth.<br/>But Laura - the daughter of a clothes factory owner - may be the answer.<br/>As love blossoms, two worlds collide, and only time will show who is going to pay the price.</p><p>Work title and all chapter titles taken from Hunger of the Pine // alt-J.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeplessly Embracing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUBMISSION: the action of accepting or yielding to a superior force or to the will or authority of another person.

_“For millennia, humanity was warring. For land, for money, for power. The anger in humanity spurred them on to commit atrocities, to murder and to plunder until all sense of morality was lost. The hatred in humanity, inevitably, caused the world to forget itself – until nothing remained but a scorched Earth and bitter rivalry._

_Then, one woman sought for reconciliation. For peace. Above all the odds, she stood tall and proud; she braved the guns, braved the loathing, and brought the warring to an end. She brought the New Order to the Earth, and saved humanity from destroying everything it ever owned. Lilita Morgan brought humanity to life again._

_The UNISSA Board was set up, with Lilita Morgan as the chair, to improve and govern humanity, where before government had been annihilated. Underneath the UNISSA Board, humanity found a purpose again: to build, to grow, and to achieve greater things._

_Under the New Order, planet Earth will become great again. But it is a long road, Residents, and a journey we must all take together._

_To stray off the beaten track is to hope for the Old World once more – and no human, dead or alive, could ever,_ ever _want that for the survival of humanity.”_ – Foreword to the UNISSA (Universal and National Institute for Supervising Society’s Amelioration) Doctrine

* * *

 

They used to say the world was created with gods and monsters.

Out of nothingness, God could create light, and the sky, and people. Another culture once said that a giant egg was split to separate the earth and the heavens. Or, perhaps there was a race of deities, families so intricate with siblings so monstrous that it was hard to figure out who was related to who.

Gods and monsters. They still exist today.

Not in the typical sense. No, Carmilla is aware of that. Religion is banned; it’s described as a distraction. But people elevate themselves and degrade others as such – there’s a stark difference between those who must have power, and those inferior enough to not have power bestowed upon them.

It’s a very fickle situation, Carmilla thinks.

Of course, life itself is fickle. Was humanity not, according to official documentation, on the brink of self-destruction some 50 years ago? Fighting until the battles had no meaning, clawing at any chance for power and revenge. Did they not rid the Earth of tenderness because tenderness did not get rid of the enemy? Because greed ruled all, and a consideration for anything other than oneself (including the ground they walked on) was deemed unnecessary?

What cruel creatures people became. How did they survive? How did they live with themselves?

Carmilla doesn’t want to imagine living in a world like that. Looking around her room, though, she wishes a better alternative was presented to the people of the Old Order.

It’s quiet, night time. Mother, Matska and Will are sleeping, she knows, and the only people who would even consider being active right now are the Helpers. The only sound is the wind outside; it laments its existence on this suffering Earth.

She can see it twisting through the landscape, through the newly-planted trees, as she sits on the windowsill, gazing out into the world. Fires are still burning in the towns, the only source of light available to them. They reflect off the cages Residents call homes. (Homes? They are not homes.) Some of the houses are, by comparison, well-made – constructed with any bricks given to them, reserved for the factory owners and the town’s elite. Others are barely more than four walls of corrugated steel.

She’s had to parade around them before. The poverty, the disparity. It makes her sick.

Her own house is a mansion, a castle. Full of winding stairs and Helpers stopping to respectfully acknowledge her presence when she walks by. One with evenly laid bricks and electric lights in every room.

(Electricity! Residents would murder one another for electricity.)

She lives in the lap of luxury. There are beautiful desks and sumptuous sofas, chandeliers and elegant bookcases. There are even cassettes and ancient record players. (They truly are antiques. She always grew up with one, listening to the soft, tinkling music and the crackling of the needle on the vinyl. She’s fairly certain it’s the only authentic record player currently in existence.) It reeks of wealth and power, which is just how Lilita Morgan likes it.

Carmilla doesn’t.

Her education was given to her, and to her siblings, by UNISSA members. Not from the Board members themselves, but the Educators of the organization. She knows all that she was taught – which is little, in contrast to how much people must have known in the ancient times of Old World. But she finds knowledge through other sources, as well. The books on the gargantuan bookcases, prying out more information every time she rereads them. From her own experience in this life she must live.

Part of her experience is not pleasant. She has seen other sides to people the world is meant to trust; she has seen another side to the castle she lives in. She knows all of its hidden crevices and suffocating cells. She frequents – too many times – when Mother decides to stuff Carmilla in them and lock her away for the day. She knows of panic attacks and claustrophobia, and how far her siblings will go to protect her before protecting themselves.

(Matska cares much more than Will ever will. Mattie holds Carmilla tight and pries the lighter hands off her own arms. Her older sister stays with her for the rest of the day, not even allowing Helper Perry to attend to either of them. Will gazes at her with something close to pity in his eyes but does nothing.)

Even if that never happened to her, she would still hate this house. She is her mother’s daughter only by word, she is her brother’s sister only by word. She doesn’t have anything else in common with them, not even blood.

(Thank God she has Mattie. She would surely lose herself without her.)

When Mother parades the family in front of the Residents, when they shout Lilita Morgan’s name in joy, Carmilla has to smile and wave along with the rest of her family. And when Residents tell her that she is _so_ lucky to have been taken in as a daughter by the UNISSA Board Chair – the woman who brought the world to peace again – she must nod and agree with them.

(Look at their pitying smiles. Carmilla Karnstein, orphaned at birth, taken in by the great and honourable Lilita out of the kindness of her own heart. She hates that.)

It’s in the family contract, after all.

Only her family know of her discontent with the New Order. Carmilla, the middle child of “The Shining Family”, even with possible trauma from the death of the man who loved her like a father not ten years ago, could never expose this to the public. Besides, Mother must believe it to be a rebellious phase – one that must be shaken out of her with fear. Like it’s something all of the youth have to go through in a post-apocalyptic world.

Freedom is a generational idea, apparently.

She knows not to expose this. Even she is not safe from the regulations from UNISSA. Everyone must follow the UNISSA Board’s demands, or no one will ever get anywhere and humanity will certainly destroy itself as a consequence. Anyone who steps out of line has to answer to the Peace Enforcers as to why they just don’t want to see humanity succeed – and anyone with half a brain there is nothing peaceful about them.

Was this really what Mother had in mind when she wrestled the world under control half a century ago? Was she fighting for a better world, or a world to rule herself? Was she always this neurotic?

It’s a crying shame, the privileged daughter thinks, how she can think back to her earliest memories and still not change her answer. Yes, Mother has always been like this.

“Miss Karnstein, you shouldn’t be up this late; it’s not good for your health,” Helper Perry chastises from the doorway. Perry somehow manages to find Carmilla wherever she is. It’s always been infuriating, but at least she’s one of the Helpers that actually does care for the children.

Carmilla sighs and turns to look at the servant. “I was finding it hard to sleep, Perry.” She doesn’t call Helpers by their official title if she can help it.

The redhead skitters further inside, closing the heavy door as quietly as she can. “I know, Miss Karnstein, but all the same. You need to sleep, especially as your mother is due to travel to the Residential Areas of Styria in the morning.”

The daughter groans. “Oh, great. More Parades. I am positively quaking in my boots with excitement,” she adds sarcastically.

“Oh, hush,” Perry insists, glancing fearfully at the door. “You have to do this, despite your feelings towards these sorts of things. It provides… a time for your mother to bond with her—the communities she guides.”

“ _Her_ communities?” the raven-haired girl picks up on.

The Helper becomes flustered. “Miss – n – you know that’s not what I meant.”

It is almost humorous how Perry expects to be punished – by _Carmilla_ , of all people. “Oh, don’t let me stop you from telling the truth,” she responds. “It might as well be said.”

That does little to help Perry’s state. She crosses her legs from her position on Carmilla’s bed and plays with her hands.

Sometimes, Carmilla wonders what made Perry so uptight. She realizes it’s hard to find it unusual when Perry is the personal Helper of the Shining Family.

Perry chooses not to reply; the wind rattles against the glass of the window. The trees start swaying, hypnotized. Something close to calmness settles over them for a few minutes.

“You’re only Parading for the day, Miss Karnstein,” Perry finally informs her. “Miss Belmonde, Mr Luce and you. You’ll travel to the Residential Areas of Styria but return here tomorrow night. Mrs Morgan doesn’t want this to get in the way of your education.”

Their education? Laughable. Mattie is being taught the ways of the UNISSA Board, and Will and Carmilla are still being taught by Educators. Or – Carmilla _would_ be, if she didn’t skip her lessons all the time.

(Mr Docher is an insufferable, snooty man. She’s not below throwing books at him.)

“Enthralling,” she drawls. She can think of a thousand reasons why she’d be anywhere else but at the Parades tomorrow. Besides, she’s _20._ Clearly, she can make her own choices by now.

(She wishes she had the chance to escape her parent(s), like everyone else does, at the age of 16.)

“C—Miss Karnstein, you don’t h—”

“I _know_ , Perry,” she interrupts, holding her head in her hands. But she lifts it up again, fixing the ginger-haired servant with something close to regret. “Thanks. For telling me.”

The Helper nods. That’s as close to _sorry_ as she’s ever going to get. “You must get to sleep now, Miss. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.” She pauses, crooking an eyebrow. “We all do.”

Dissent from the ginger? That puts a smile on Carmilla’s face. “Sure.”

Perry takes that as an affirmation, and promptly jumps up from the girl’s bed. “Goodnight, Carmilla,” she smiles, before jittering her way to her own bedroom.

The raven-haired woman watches the ginger curls bounce on the Helper’s back as she goes, and then the door slams shut.

Carmilla heaves a sigh. The wind dies down. She might as well get some sleep.

* * *

 

Laura can see her father striding through the downstairs room of their house, transferring plates of food across from the kitchen side to the table. Her shoes slap against the road, creating miniscule billows of dirt and dust as she rushes to get to the door. She’s meant to be home _before_ dinner’s ready. (Sue her for having an enjoyable time with her friends.) Her father is going to be annoyed about that.

As the door creaks open (her father never allows sneaking around, so he never oils that), he glares at her expectantly. She does, at least, have the decency to look sheepish.

“What time is this, Laura?” he demands.

She slips her shoes off and shuffles to the table. “In my defence, I was earlier than usual?” Her sentence ends on a higher note – which, yeah, does _not_ show confidence in the face of adversity.

“Not early enough, you _know_ this,” he scolds as she sits in her chair, the wood scraping against the stone floor. “Eat up. Fresh bread.”

Laura takes in the sight of her meal in front of her. Vegetable stew, fruit, the daily pill and _fresh_ bread. Its new smell still pervades. She rolls it about in her hand. “Fresh? Really?” she wonders, attention back on her father again. “But we’re not supposed to have new bread until the start of next month.”

“It’s a thank you from Governor Kaufer,” he explains, tearing at the bread. Little crumbs fall onto his plate, bouncing off the stained wood. “For the production increase. Looks good for the Parade tomorrow, too.”

Silently, she starts eating her soup.

The Parade. Of course this has something to do with the Parade. Anything anyone ever does these past few days has been for the Parade. When Lilita Morgan comes to visit, Silas must present itself in a false light. It must look better, the houses must look cleaner, the people must look happier.

It’s all lies, basically.

People start preparing a month in advance. As soon as it’s announced, people who work for the local UNISSA station put up posters announcing the UNISSA Board Chair’s imminent arrival and a flurry of activity immediately starts. Food production increases, so people eat better than they do all year. Best clothes are washed, parents spend their free time cleaning their homes and Cleaners work even harder to make very surface of Silas shines.

Laura can’t deny that good things do happen from the UNISSA Board Chair’s visit. For example, the water pumps and electric meters are checked more regularly, so they become available for everyone. If she’s running errands for her father, then sometimes she sees the children of the town laughing and screaming under the fountain as the water hits their scuffed skin, after finding it’s working again for the first time in ages. (For some of them, it’s the first proper shower they’ve had in months.)

Her father is another example of this. He is the owner of a textiles factory; he supervises while people sew and craft clothes sent by specific designers. Most of them are UNISSA designers, clarifying that new outfits for UNISSA members need to be made, but sometimes the designs sent are intended for Residents. Either way, it’s a hard, long slog – and he, like every factory owner in Silas, has to press his workers to produce even more so things look good for the Parade.

And, yes, the clothes the factory makes then are better than they usually are. There often ends up being more clothes for Residents than needed, so people have healthily stocked wardrobes. The clothes themselves are of better quality; the colours seem brighter.

It’s just a shame it’s all a farce, really.

On some Parades, Lilita Morgan and the Shining Family explores the towns. She knows what she’s doing; she goes to meet the people of the Residential Areas with a victorious smile on her face. Residents are only too eager to show her their workplaces, to sing their praises for her. The children are granted the day off school, but some show her the place anyway. They never sit still if they’ve been selected for that task; they’re _so_ excited for the opportunity.

Everyone jumps at the chance to glorify their lives for her. Laura knows most of it is genuine – times genuinely _are_ good when a Parade is coming up – but some of it is born out of fear. Everyone settles for much less than they deserve because they are terrified of the consequences. They are terrified of saying the wrong thing, because the Peace Enforcers will make them one of the Disappeared.

(It’s not hard to guess where the Disappeared end up. In a ditch somewhere, a hole, over at UNISSA Board stations.)

Mercifully few ever do become one of the Disappeared, but the threat hangs over Residents anyway.

She doesn’t feel so hungry anymore. She picks at the lacklustre fruit, having already finished her soup and bread.

Her keen sense of the injustice the Residents are subjected to has never diminished. She’s always been opposed to it – but, she knows, she’s in a privileged position compared to a lot of people in her town. She’s been in the houses the workers of her father’s factory live in. The health and immunity pill they all take slashes the chances of illness to 0; if it wasn’t for that piece of Old Order technology the UNISSA Board Chair decreed they should use, a good portion of the kids running about now wouldn’t even make it past the age of 5. Her clothes are of a better quality than even people like Governor Kaufer (but that’s because she’s the daughter of a textiles factory owner, so that’s different). Hell, they even have electricity. Sometimes.

(Electricity is constantly supplied to the factories and workplaces, of course. To homes? That’s another matter entirely.)

She wishes she could give back more to the community. Open another factory. Donate some money, maybe. But she’s 19, out of education, and unemployed. She’s been thinking, however, about becoming an administrator, easing some of her father’s own workload – so she could help in that way. Obviously, she _could_ get a job in her father’s place, but she’s better at designing clothes than making them.

There was one time she got to do that, in her 18th year. Silas, being the closest Residential Area to the Chair’s Residence, got the commission to make new clothes for one of the Shining Family. This was previously unheard of – usually, something like this will go to a place like Vienna or Berlin – but this was just a new top for Miss Karnstein, nothing too huge. Laura’s father, true to his nature, made this a competition for the community to find good designs for the top.

Of course his daughter took part, never wanting to pass up an opportunity to be creative. She just designed a simple, collared top, crimson red as was the requirement, but added obsidian black teardrops on the shoulders and on the shirt’s cuffs.

In the end, multiple designs were accepted and made for Carmilla to wear. Laura’s design was included.

She _is_ pretty proud of that, but that’s about as far as she’s ever going to get in deciding her own career. Everything is planned out for her, it seems. Get a job in a factory, earn enough money so she can buy a house that doesn’t collapse on the day she purchases it, have a f—

“You’re friends with Kirsch, aren’t you?” her father interrupts her train of thought, putting his spoon down as he gazes at his daughter.

That’s the other thing. She has to start a family.

“Yes,” she responds mechanically, twisting the raspberry in her fingers. She knows what’s coming next. Her father doesn’t like saying this as much as she likes hearing it, so she tells herself that as she gears for the inevitable conversation.

He sounds really pained as he spits out his next words. “J-Just friends?”

“Please don’t make me slam my head on the table, Dad,” she sighs, as a way of answer. “I’m gay. _Really_ really gay.”

“I know, Laura. And, trust me, I’m okay with that,” he clarifies. Again, she knows. “But… you know what UNISSA says.”

“As if I could forget it.”

He frowns. “You know I’m just trying to look out for you. Children are important in this day and age, and… I have a duty to make sure you’re growing up correctly. Especially with…”

He takes a deep breath. Laura’s heart stings. Ten years later, and he still can’t mention her without getting choked up. Laura isn’t much better, if she’s honest.

“Especially with Mom becoming one of the Disappeared, I know,” she nods, getting the words out eventually.

The words, the thoughts, the memories – they hang heavy in the quiet air between them. She takes the pill and eats her fruit in silence, while her father just stares.

Then her father speaks.

“Laura,” he blurts out. The intensity of his speech and his gaze takes her back. “Don’t follow her footsteps. I know – you got her ferocity. You’re as strongminded as she was. But please – _please_ – do not go on a crusade. I can’t lose you, you know.” He nods himself. “I can’t.”

The factory owner’s daughter stills. She’s always believed in good versus evil, in pushing to get what she deserved. She’s always believed in making a commotion if it’s needed.

And her father’s hands are shaking while he pins her down with his piercing scrutiny.

“I won’t,” she promises.

She feels torn, but what else can she say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, creampuffs - reads, kudos and comments are absolutely wonderful and so appreciated!


	2. Butterflies and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EMERGENCE: the process of becoming visible after being concealed; the process of coming into existence or prominence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's definitely a relief that the feedback for this story has been positive so far. Dystopia's often a hard setting to crack, so hopefully I'll do this one justice!

She sits by the window, watching the world as if it were a stage, and she the audience. It’s not a huge screen, granted, but it still gives her enough of a view to see the play before her.

Enter stage right, a boy of 7 from the slum area. He’s friends with Josef from down the street; she knows this because they’re playing together at every available opportunity. He skips down the street in his best clothes (positively gleaming compared to his usual state) and he shouts out Josef’s name. It’s drowned out by the other kids screaming and laughing.

A girl knocks into him as she runs. He falls onto the floor, hits his head. Everything stops – the playing, the laughing, the joy. The little boy sits up groggily, a scowl on his face.

“Wilhelm!” the girl – Marissa – gasps, crouching down to him. (Laura opens the window wider to hear properly.) “I’m so-so sorry!”

Everyone else is still frozen, shocked by the events that have happened. This is the big day of the Parade – to have their _best_ clothes dirtied is a sign of awful luck. Especially for someone from the slum area.

“I really didn’t mean to, Wilhelm,” she cries, when his eyes widen in alarm and his head darts down to his clothes. His trousers are a little bruised at the knees, and the bright orange of his jumper has been interrupted by a very irregular splat of mud on his right side.

“What did you do that for?” Kye, older than Marissa by about 3 years, spits at her. (He’s not a very nice little kid. Laura’s had to deal with him too many times.) He saunters over to them, and his friends follow. “It’s the _Parade_ today, Riss. Why did you shove him? Do you hate him?”

Some of the others kids join in the protest. Even Marissa’s best friend frowns at her.

Marissa shrinks into herself, hands still on Wilhelm’s arm. “I didn’t mean to, I promise!” she begs.

Laura sees the thankfully uninjured boy mutter something, but she’s too far away to hear. Then, he says it louder. “It’s okay.”

The perpetrator of all this disagrees, but Wilhelm talks over her. “I can get a new one. Mama got more clothes yesterday. I don’t like orange, anyway.”

Marissa helps him up and nearly falls over herself. “I’m sorry, really really,” she trembles.

“I know,” Wilhelm nods. “I’m going to change. Please tell Josef.” He stays there for a second longer, before twisting on his heels and running down the street, disappearing from view. Exit stage right.

The world’s a stage, someone really famous in the Old World once said, according to her father; she can’t remember the writer’s name. (Shackles something? Shakesmere? It’s not coming to her. Her father doesn’t quite know, either.) Not in those words, exactly, but close enough. Laura can see why they said it. Life is orchestrated, even the unexpected bits. People play their parts like it’s all they can do, and hold onto the script given to them as if it’s their life force. And for some people, she supposes it is – their families, their children, the community of Silas, it’s all they want. It’s all they aspire to have. They can’t hope for anything better.

And, well, that’s boring. At least, for Laura it is. While the rules are so rigorous and her future already planned for her, Laura just wants to explore. Go to different places, find out about different lives. The furthest she’s ever been from Silas town has been in the wastelands surrounding the Residential Area, sneaking out with Kirsch and Laf. That’s an easy 10 minute walk from her house, and even that’s just a flat expanse of dull, dry earth.

(Her father never lets go out like that again. He’s terrified for her.)

Her father’s right; she got that from her mother. Her heart clenches at the thought of her. Brave, strong, beautiful Amanda – and fierce, infinitely fierce. Her father loved her for her passion, and lost her because of it. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. Laura and he got home from the factory one night to see the door busted open and everything unsettled.

And Mom was gone. In her place, a note in shaky handwriting, tears spilled on the writing, saying she had gone out and would be back soon. And that she loved them, endlessly.

 _Endlessly._ She can’t see it as anything but a lie. How can someone dead still love others if they’re gone? Laura’s love for her mother _is_ endless – it never goes away, it aches in her chest every day – but her mother has been gone since Laura was nine and there’s no way to get her back.

She wishes there was. Then it wouldn’t be so lonely, out here.

Out in the street, the play still goes on. Adults bustle out of the homes – some scrubbing clean every surface they can find, others chastising their children for playing so recklessly. The children themselves are calmer than before as the Parade inches closer, and any boisterous playing has stopped. They smooth down their clothes nervously, playing with the buttons. A Silas UNISSA station member strolls down the path, frowning at the houses and knocking on each door to make sure that everyone is prepared.

(Of course everyone is prepared. Most people here wouldn’t miss it for the world.)

Laura wonders what her play would look like, as pen put down on paper. What would her story be? First, tragedy in the opening act, with little punctures of that same ache bleeding into the other pages. There might be plenty of potential for some gripping adventure, or it might be like everyone else’s. How will it end? With romance, two lovers united? Or will there be tragedy again? She doesn’t know, she _can’t_ know, but she wants to know.

She only knows about plays and stages because of her father. He was born at the beginning of the New Order, but his parents tried to make him as learned as possible. It’s one of the things he clings onto, his education in the ways of the Old Order. It’s not even that much, either – just little bits of information here and there – but it’s enough to tell Laura that so much was lost by warring. (She doesn’t need UNISSA telling her that.) It’s enough to tell her that so much was lost by Lilita Morgan’s regime, too.

It’s the tiniest of rebellions, but it makes her happy. Books, literature; she loves them, and the idea of knowing a bit about the Old Order’s literature tides her over. Her mother used to say Laura would get lost in them if she could.

And she would.

The factory owner’s daughter hops away from the window and floats about her room, fingering the buttons on her plain blue blouse. It’s still too stuffy in here, despite the window, and she regrets putting a huge, flowing skirt on. But they’re what her father wants her to wear, so she’ll wear it.

She can still hear the chattering from outside, the world opened to her.

(The world is hers if she wants to take it. She’s not allowed to take it.)

A brusque sound brings her back to her senses – her father, knocking on her doorframe. He stands there in his “casual suit”, suspenders over his shirt and no jacket. He gazes at her with trepidation and exhaustion.

“Ready to go?” he asks gruffly.

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” she nods, rushing past him to tread downstairs. The stone floor is cold on her feet (it’s soothing), and she slips on her shoes with ease. He follows. Neither says a word.

The whistle blows in the street to inform anyone within hearing distance that they need to travel to the centre of town, so they exit the house immediately. The sunlight hits Laura square in the eyes, and she falls back into her father in reaction to it. He catches her and sets her off walking again, as if he’s used to catching her all the time.

This, actually, is probably the truth. Laura Hollis, presumed to be skilled and careful from her position as the daughter of a factory owner, is notoriously clumsy when attempting _anything_. She blames her father.

They join the assemblies of Residents walking together to the centre of the town, slipping easily into the throng as people say hello. The benefit of being her father’s daughter is that Laura knows the factory workers well, so their families and friends are all very welcoming. She guesses she could walk down any street in town and be greeted by someone she knows. Therefore, it’s easy to settle when walking to Parades; it’s easy to make conversation.

“Hey! Little hottie!” she hears from behind her, so she whips around to see Kirsch striding towards them.

She grins at him and hangs back so he can join her. She also makes a mental note to pick up her walking pace – because as loveable as Kirsch is, he’s 6 feet of leg and muscle, and he tends to forget that Laura has much, _much_ smaller than he does.

“You excited for the Parade?” he asks, grinning down at her as he marches (while she’s almost running). “Hey, d’you think Lilita will, like, come to our houses?”

Kirsch, as well as being over 6ft, has short, floppy hair and a huge grin, as well as wide, unassuming eyes. He reminds Laura of an overgrown puppy, dressed up in a tweed waistcoat and pants, a plain white shirt, and a grey flat cap. He’s as excitable as a puppy, too; the bounce in his step is almost permanent, and she’s never really seen him devastated. For someone as naïve as Kirsch, she doesn’t want to.

Laura smiles in response and gives the same answer she always has. “I don’t know, Kirsch. Hopefully!”

He takes it; he nods and continues smiling. “It’d be pretty cool, wouldn’t it? _The_ Lilita Morgan. In my house! I hope I made it look presentable, though.”

Kirsch doesn’t have the privilege of electricity. He spends his days helping his father at the bakery, and his nights helping bake the next batch to sell the next day. He has running water, and an option for hot water, but his room – which he shares with his brother and sister – is an extra shack attached to his family’s house. Kirsch took over the bakery for a day so his father could clean the house, and the bumbling 19-year-old boy took a day off so he could clean his room. The Parade means as much to Laura’s friend as it does to anyone else here.

When Kirsch comes over to Laura’s house, he always looks stunned by the difference. But not once has he ever expressed some form of jealousy towards her position. Not once.

Clearly, Kirsch is too good for this harsh world.

He jumps up and down when he sees the stage, and Laura laughs. He’s always been good at that, making her smile when she needs it. The chattering around her explodes into a buzzing of excitement as they reach the rest of the town; the two friends and Laura’s father find seats at the side and away from the bulge of Residents and sit in the rough, uncomfortable apparatus. Kirsch immediately starts a conversation with Laura’s father about the customers in the Kirsch bakery, and she currently can’t find it in her to worry about the Parade any more.

An order to stop talking and wait for Lilita Morgan is barked out by Governor Kaufer, who stands on the stage next to his colleagues, watching the crowd with eyes like hawks. Everyone is suddenly quiet, but the anticipation just builds and builds. Kirsch sneaks a few glances at the factory owner’s daughter and grins.

She grins back. It’s not hard to, with someone like her friend.

Then they hear it; the smooth wheels on the harsh gravel. The Silas UNISSA station members instantly scatter, finding three chairs to place on the stage before dutifully exiting out of sight. Meanwhile, Lilita Morgan and the Shining Family have stopped in their car and extract themselves from it – jumping down from their seats and marching over to the stage, followed by three UNISSA Guards.

(Enter stage right. Cue audience’s reaction.)

A huge cheer rises up from the crowd as soon as Lilita is in sight; her father and Kirsch join in, but Laura watches obediently. Luckily, she’s pretty close to the front, so she can study all of them quite well.

Each person climbs onto the stage and take their respective places. Lilita floats to the microphone, waving. Matska and Will copy their mother’s elegance and lower themselves with a raised head and a pleasant smile. Carmilla sits suddenly, leaning forward and gazing down at the floor with incredible intensity.

The factory owner’s daughter can’t help it – she just watches Carmilla. Parades don’t come around often, and every time they do she’s always curious about the children. Especially Carmilla. The youngest daughter is unfairly pretty – really unfairly beautiful, actually – with her obsidian hair that flows effortlessly down her shoulders and features sharp enough to hurt someone. But she doesn’t seem particularly enthused about the whole situation, either, and that’s what makes her stick in Laura’s mind. (For the most part. Laura’s made a point of not denying her appreciation for beauty before she’s told to marry some guy.)

She’s different. Not how Laura expected her to be. She likes that.

Plus, Carmilla’s wearing what looks like a really casual cape, black leather pants, and what seems to be the top Laura designed for her. Or, if that’s wishful thinking (which it tends to be), then something very close to it.

A UNISSA Guard takes her place behind Carmilla; the movement makes the youngest daughter of the Shining Family look up. And –

There’s a thrill. Of – of – fear? _Excitement?_ Something different. Either way, when Carmilla’s gaze locks onto hers, something moves through Laura that half terrifies her and half fascinates her. They stay there, frozen for a few moments, before Carmilla looks away and adopts her usual expression of sheepish boredom. The fluttering in Laura’s heart and stomach takes a while to stop, however. She stares at the ground numbly while she processes.

Okay. That was… new.

She can’t think about it for a while, though – because Lilita Morgan takes that moment to clear her throat and address the Residents of Silas personally. Which is fine. Now she can concentrate on what the UNISSA Board Chair’s saying.

Well, she _tries_ , anyway.

* * *

 

Carmilla wonders how many times one can make a show out of picking at one’s nails before it’s considered impolite.

She decides even doing so once makes her look rude. And she’s already done it twice.

She can’t help it; she just wants to be anywhere else but here right now.

It’s a warmer day than expected. By some miracle, they can actually see a blue sky above them, and the Sun illuminates the Parade stage in glowing light. It’s a touch too bright for Carmilla, so she keeps looking down – which, coincidentally, reinforces her “moody teenager” image she finds pleasure in projecting after finding out that Mother hates it. The stage is just steel grey, fixed together with bolts and hammers, but she concentrates on it regardless. It’s a better alternative than hearing the drivel Lilita Morgan is currently spouting.

Plastic smile, dishonest words. Sweet voice dripping with cloying claims. Carmilla has tried to find suitable phrases to describe her mother for a long time, but they always end up the same. Dishonesty and sincerity rolled into one; that seems to epitomise Mother. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing – speaking to a crowd out in the Residential Areas, or wondering out loud why Carmilla has to be so unfairly _disrespectful_ as she shoves the raven-haired daughter into a closet – but the potent scent of promises always tries its best to hide the lingering smell of deceit that accompanies her wherever she goes.

If her mother were anyone but her mother, she’d be impressed. Holding that power so surely in one’s hands, so confident in the way things are going to go. Having total control of every situation. Carmilla thinks it’s admirable, if not used to abuse the power.

By contrast, she has no control. No, this girl hunched in her seat, staring down at the metal floor while her mother praises this town of Silas for perpetually improving produce and output – there is nothing in her life which has not been tainted by the UNISSA Board. Her family, her education, her image. Even the “moody teenager” image was approved by most on the Board. They thought it made the Shining Family look more than two-dimensional; it showed Residents that this was a real family and not robotic.

What family? Her interactions with Mother are brief and stilted, filled with animosity and bitter disappointment. Will is not much better – he has adopted the UNISSA regime wholeheartedly and often tells Carmilla that she should do the same. And Matska, the closest person to Carmilla she has ever had (and probably ever will have) is rarely present at their house. She spends her days studying (or, to be more truthful, sneering in the direction of Mr Docher and consequently locking herself in her room, going through her books), or reading, or spending more time alone. She is often accompanied by some of the Helpers, mainly Perry, but it is still a life without.

But, she supposes, she’s always lived a life of _without_ ; she probably wouldn’t adapt to the opposite.

Lilita Morgan’s voice floats back into her ears as she slowly but surely regains an awareness of her surroundings.

“…people of Silas, my gratitude to you is insurmountable. Silas is a small Residential Area, it is undeniable, but the valour and enthusiasm with which you conduct your daily business is a perfect example for the rest of the world. You, truly, are what I intend to present to the International Chairs of the UNISSA Board. Enthusiastic, caring Residents, committed to bringing your community together for the good of your people. Hardworking, conscientious Residents dedicated to prolonging humanity’s existence on this poor, poor ravaged Earth,” Mother smiles. She pauses, before turning her head in the slightest amount towards Carmilla. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to take my daughter in? She could learn immensely from all of you.”

A good-natured chuckle rolls through the crowd – and Carmilla, who had her head, watches and tries to suppress the burning in her cheeks. Humiliating.

Lilita Morgan smiles at her. “I only joke, my love,” she sings, and every word is more of a needle to the Shining daughter’s heart than the laughter.

Nevertheless, she grins back, and then turns her smile sheepish as she looks at the crowd. Her acting has considerably improved throughout the years.

They all lap it up, of course.

For the first time in perhaps _ever_ , Carmilla knows that this is too big a lie to deny it anymore. She’s been surprised this year by the number of stony faced individuals staring daggers at the Shining Family. It’s just a few – it’s usually never more than 4 or 5 – but the raven-haired girl counts 9 people staring at them with anything other than bright captivation in their expression. A tall woman with blazing red hair to her right, eyes flickering with fire in her eyes every so often. A short, stubby man donned in a black suit never once looking at Lilita Morgan. It piques Carmilla’s curiosity unlike any other form of entertainment she has available to her.

And then there’s this one woman. She doesn’t look older than 20, with honey brown hair and expressive caramel brown eyes. She’s quite close to the front, sitting with two men – an older man, whom Carmilla suspects is the girl’s father, and a younger one, tall and gangly and vaguely reminiscent of a mutt. (A feeling close to disappointment shoots through when she realises that the gangly boy might be the girl’s suitor.) And she is not _impassive_ , exactly – her face is far too expressive to ever show that – but coolly curious. She watches everything, takes in the air through her lungs and then her eyes starts wondering all over again. Every so often, she flattens down her clothes and adjusts her brown locks. But her eyes stay wide, documenting everything she can.

Carmilla can’t remember when she was last enthralled at a Parade as this.

The Shining daughter alternates her actions; she goes from staring dumbly at the ground to watching the honey brown-haired woman intensely. It seems extraordinarily cheesy to think it, but she can’t deny she’s drawn to that one spectator. She can’t quite figure out _why_ , though; everything about her seems to call Carmilla back to that spot, as if she were a lure and the raven-haired woman an unsuspecting victim. The memory of searing emotion rushing through her as their eyes met that first time keeps on replaying in her mind as she gazes.

A few times, the girl looks back. The same intensity wells up in her, and Carmilla has to be careful not to let it show. Almost half an hour after their arrival, Carmilla catches the fascinating woman’s gaze again and shoots her a smirk.

The woman looks away, breathing in deeply. Interesting development.

She is so caught up in this game that she barely manages to snap herself out her daze when Lilita _finally_ finishes her speech and the crowd respond in thunderous applause. Lilita Morgan bows graciously and motions to her children.

“And now; to explore!” Lilita Morgan explains to her children, beaming wide at Will, who’s smiling back. Then, the UNISSA Board Chair’s suit jacket swishes lightly in the air as she spins around and stalks off the stage.

The children of the Shining Family immediately stand up, having done this so many times; Carmilla is still feeling the effects of her stupor so Mattie takes her hand and tugs on it.

(What has got into her?)

“Come _on_ , Carm!” she chastises, dark eyes blazing, but when the youngest daughter falls into her expected place, she relents. “How long do you think it’ll take before we can fall behind and lose Mother?” she whispers, almost conspiratorially, to Carmilla.

The younger of the two siblings matches the grin on Matska’s face with a small smile of her own. Where Carmilla is rough edges and tentative steps, Mattie is brazen confidence and walking through fire. She is everything that Mother wishes Carmilla was; Matska is not even near what Carmilla is. (She thinks it makes them what they are – the unlikely sisters, the unlikely friends.)

They tiptoe down the steps, still hand in hand, and the raven-haired woman finally gives her older sister an answer. (She knows Mother gets quickly engaged in what she’s being shown, so she never bats an eye if the Shining Children disperse. She calculates they need to be there for five minutes at the most.) Matska laughs as they walk.

She should be chatting to Mattie. Or, at least sulking. But Carmilla wonders to herself if it’s considered rude to escape from their Mattie-and-Carmilla tradition during Parades to find a girl she’s been staring at for too long.


	3. Line My Seamed-Up Join

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ENCOUNTER: an unexpected or casual meeting with someone or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to formally apologise for the month-long gap in uploading. The perks of A-Levels, for you; it snatches away any motivation - or indeed, time - to write. However, it's back now, so hopefully you haven't lost faith in this and will still enjoy it!

They’re two worlds apart, to be completely truthful. Designated different destinations. They are lines at right angles of one another, meeting only once to continue unto oblivion. The electric feel from the eye contact they’ve been allowed is just that point; now they must continue as if it never happened.

Carmilla manages to convince herself of this as she stalks around the Residential Area. Light is fading now, in these colder winter months, and her shadow is being swallowed up by the dark settling around the town. She keeps her head low as she continues exploring, ducking through streets and staying close to walls.

The walls are uneven here. She’s stayed around the nicer parts of the town, but the stones are irregular with gaps in between them. The bricks are not laid properly. A few stick out. Her fingers trail across them, rising and falling, receding closer to her body and advancing further away with every dip and surge of the red, cold cuboids. Their surfaces are abrasive to the Shining daughter’s fingertips, but she doesn’t mind it. It’s a somewhat welcome break from the feather-light feeling of the off-white pages of her books.

This time, she wants to be in the _real_ world.

With torches starting to burn, masquerading as lights and plunging the streets into flickering shadows, she knows she really is where she wants to be. Vinyl players and unwinding staircases be damned; here she can see what life is like for the vast majority of the population. She wants to be a part of it – not because she particularly cares about the people who live inside here, but because she’d prefer to live a life that wasn’t shrouded in façade.

That would be novel. To see a mother who smiles at her the way she smiles for the audience. To have _all_ of her siblings not question her validity as a human being for not whole-heartedly sticking to the new regime. To not be crushed under the weight of adhering to an image all her life.

Like something out of a novel.

She chuckles mirthlessly at herself and turns onto another street, this one more populated. Adults laze about, chatting easily to each other about whatever drama has currently riddled their lives, but most congregate outside of one building. Carmilla blinks and realises it is almost mirroring a scene from one of her favourite tales; the only things missing are the dapper clothes complete with top hats, and the protagonist rushing through the crowd to meet her fate.

Replace the top hats and suits with bright, mismatched clothing. Little shape or substance, little sign of cleanliness. And replace the protagonist with Carmilla, with a lack of interest and certainly a lack of heroism to boot.

She’s found the place that she wants to be – the _Taverne von Silas_. She wonders for a split-second if it’s a good idea to walk into one of the most frequented places in the town – but, no. She’s Carmilla Karnstein. Upon arrival to the towns, she is given almost free rein in her behaviours (bar actually murdering someone). This would only develop her reputation further as the more rebellious Shining daughter.

(Rebellious but insightful. Vicious and voracious. She wanders the town as an art form, an outrageously exaggerated version of herself.)

So she’ll do what she damn well likes. She sticks her hand in her pockets and marches to the tavern, head held stubbornly high. Residents don’t realize who she is until it’s too late.

The door is barely attached to its hinges, but Carmilla still gets through with ease – that is, until, she has to push her way through the throngs of adults drunk on too much beer. She keeps her lip curled up in distaste and snarls at the inebriated brutes to get the _hell_ out of her way, which, for the most part, actually works. A few try to stop her, and – in their drunken state – serve only to infuriate her.

“Hey, hey, hey, look who it is! Shining Daughter Number Two!”

“The orphan!”

Really? Why are people still obsessed with that?

“Hey, Miss High and Mighty, can you sign my beh—”

“Complete that sentence and I swear, I will get the UNISSA guards on you,” she snaps, and the mood immediately sours. The man visibly gulps.

Good. It’ll serve him right. She agrees with the lack of faith, but she has a reputation to uphold.

“What’cha doing comin’ in a place like here, Miss Karnstein?”

Carmilla snaps her head to the source of the question. It’s not unkind, merely curious. Her eyes focus on the bartender, a slim, gaunt-looking individual with floppy blonde hair and a substantial beard. He ignores everyone around them as his interested gaze stays on her.

“Let’s not pretend there’s an alternative answer to that question,” she answers, placing her elbows on the bar. “I’m here for a drink, nothing else.”

“Your wish is m’ command, Miss,” he grins, saluting her by tapping his head with two fingers. He whizzes around to dispense some watered-down alcohol from the only pump into a pint glass. “Only got one type, unfortunately. Can’t afford anythin’ extrav’gant.”

There’s nothing else extravagant. This is the only type of beer allowed. It intoxicates but doesn’t allow sustained liver poisoning.

“I don’t want anything extravagant,” she assures him, waving off the apology – and wonders why she’s being so polite to him.

He just nods. People start to clamour again at her appearance – look at Carmilla Karnstein, the rebellious Shining Daughter, in _our tavern!_ She exchanges a few stilted pleasantries with the more respectful Residents as she waits for and receives her pint, glad that the beer is cheap and tasteless. (She won’t be paying for it anyway. The Residents would never let her.) Wine is for refined tasters, and tonight she doesn’t feel like acting particularly refined.

The tavern itself is as dingy and cramped as she expects it to be. The only sources of light are from the torches, which bathe the rooms in a warm, orange glow, and people push into the centre of the rooms in order to avoid being set alight by the naked flames.

As Carmilla has come to expect, the tipsy and drunken Residents are completely unaware of the concept of personal space, and are so raucous that she almost wishes she were back in her room. They holler about nonsensical dramas and howl with laughter at jokes in poor taste. It’s very different to the image the Residents are always careful to present to the UNISSA Board’s Chair.

This, she realises, is what these people are like as soon as they are allowed to live a little. Any sense of freedom – even the pretence of freedom – and they lose their inhibitions. They’re not afraid to be themselves, united in their community and safe in the knowledge that they are supported by each other – especially now they know that Mother approves of their Residential Area. (Yet that would probably change if they saw the view before Carmilla. Mother wasn’t likely to come to the _Taverne von Silas_ , anyway; she’s far too practical for that.)

Mother is wine glasses and white marble statues; the sound of heels clicking on cold stone floors as she stalks away from the newest punishment. This place is dirty stone surfaces and awful beer and flickering flames; the sound of happiness and community and escape.

The Shining Daughter actually smiles at the scene before her. It is, however, a smile laced with sorrowful envy.

She finishes three, four, five drinks, mostly keeping to herself – or, as much as she can considering the circumstances. She’s thankful Mattie let her explore the town by herself (“I don’t suppose you’d want to accompany me on my surprise trip to join Mother, Kitty?”) because the oldest Shining Daughter would only worry about Mother’s real reaction to Carmilla’s location. Which is understandable, but this is why she does it. A little _fuck you_ of sorts to the woman she despises the most.

Everything is slightly fuzzy now. The edges of her vision become less focused and the bustle of the tavern roars in her ears. This is what she has been doing on Parades ever since Mother gave her the permission to drink – but suddenly she decides it’s too much. She needs air.

There’s not enough air in here.

She slaps down 50 tokens for her drinks and shuffles out of the tavern, shooting ferocious glances at anyone within a metre of her. They clear out of the way, thank _God_ , and she immediately turns to walk to the front of a house on the street.

It’s quieter here. Her head stops spinning completely now.

She leans against the wall for a few minutes, listening in silence to the customers’ seemingly endless jubilations, before deciding that she really must start to get back now. If she finds a UNISSA station member, they’ll happily escort her to the Chair’s Residence, and she doesn’t have to suffer a journey home with Mother.

Good plan. Good plan. Yet, frustratingly, she spots a flaw in her plan. She has no idea where she is.

Slowly, slowly, she lifts her head from the side of the brick wall, and starts watching the throng still on the street. There are less people now – they’ve probably started going to bed – but those that are leaving and those that are arriving can maybe indicate where the rest of the town is. She watches for a few minutes, her eyes fixing intensely on every person who walks into her line of eyesight, before it comes to her that they’re largely going through the street she used to get here. Fine, she can do that. She prowls in any shadows she can as she dashes towards the centre of the town.

Her shoes are dirty now. She knows that much. It doesn’t matter how much the Residents try to clean up their place; it’s always going to be muddy and her shoes will always get ruined when she comes here. She stares down at them, not really paying attention to where she’s going anymore, and feels quite happy about that. That’s part of a real life. Part of a real—

A stifled gasp. Carmilla immediately jumps to the conclusion that something is very wrong and stops walking, ready to calculate her next move even in her intoxicated state. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands balled into fists. But then her eyes travel to the girl in front of her – the source of the noise – and suddenly she’s not ready. She just… stops. All of her.

It’s the woman with the eyes, from the Parade. The wide eyes and haunting memory here to overwrite her earlier chants.

(Perpendicular lines are not meant to meet twice.

That thought alone sends her dizzy again.)

The Shining Daughter can’t quite understand how she got here, a dark street with fewer but better houses and fewer torchlights – or, indeed, why the woman is here. But she undoubtedly is; holding a crate of beer, no less. How… completely unexpected.

The woman is standing in the torchlight of one of the torches. She’s enveloped completely in the glow, bright and burning, and the fires dance in the Resident’s eyes as Carmilla takes everything in. Small stature, thin but well-built, blue blouse and grey skirt. Dirty shoes. Wooden crate full of beer bottles.

The raven-haired woman should feel embarrassed, she thinks. She’s been staring at this girl for ten seconds now. It is, in this slightly drunk state, a small relief that she is currently unable to.

What _does_ make her feel, embarrassed, however, is the woman’s open mouth. Of course, Carmilla is not allowed to forget who she is.

“It’s you,” the Resident whispers, her voice both light and substantial.

It comes out of her mouth before she registers it. “Last time I checked, yes.”

This seems to pull the honey brown haired beauty out of her reverie; she shakes her head in order to dispel her trance, and she straightens her spine. Carmilla tries not to watch her as she does so (the operative word in this sentence being _tried_ ). “I’m sorry, Miss, that was rude of me. I was the one gaping, after all.”

The Shining Daughter chuckles. “Don’t stress, cutie. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be made to feel upset.”

The Resident blushes, which Carmilla decides she enjoys viewing. “No, no, I just…” At the look in the raven-haired girl’s eyes, she bails on that utterance. Shyly now, she starts looking down at the crate she’s holding, blush still evident in the torchlight. “What-what brings you here, then? I thought you’d be home by now. I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting to find you like this.”

Carmilla raises her eyebrows and glances pointedly at the crate in the woman’s arms. “I could easily revert that back to you.” Her words are ever so slightly too drawn out to convince anyone of outstanding sobriety.

“Oh! Um, they’re not for me, I promise,” the mysterious girl replies, laughing. “They’re for my father, and his colleagues. Parades are always an excuse for them to get together. I just get the beer for them.” Her expression is suddenly worrisome; she rushes to add, “Not that they drink a lot. They don’t. People generally don’t here; it’s just a special occasion.”

The Shining Daughter smirks. She likes this girl. A mix of awkward and defiant – it’s oddly endearing. “That much is evident. Well, I should let you get back to delivering the alcohol, shouldn’t I?”

She swears she sees disappointment flitting through the girl’s eyes. “Um – yeah, sure. Thanks, C—Miss Karnstein.” The caramel brown-eyed woman hoists the crates higher in her grasp and appears to be frozen between curtseying and running off.

The sight of it almost makes Carmilla laugh, though not cruelly. “Until next time, Miss,” Carmilla nods, a full-blown grin on her face. (Once more she asks herself, what has got into her?)

The flames cast flickering shadows on the Resident’s face. Her rosy cheeks are illuminated in a soft orange glow before being draped in darkness. “There’ll be a next time?”

The raven-haired girl considers this. If Mother is out Parading, then there’ll be no strict orders at home – except from, perhaps, Perry following orders. But she can get to Silas relatively easily, and without too much trouble if she dodges the tightly-wound Helper. It’s not like anyone else would pay attention.

So, yes. “It’s a definite possibility,” she answers, folding her arms and pushing herself off the brick wall. In her intoxicated state, she nearly stumbles into the woman (which would be far more embarrassing later than it would feel now), but she manages to keep her footing. “If I do, however, get the chance to… come here again, at what place should I see you?”

“The factory,” the honey brown-haired woman replies, almost breathlessly. “The clothes factory. My father works there. I’ll be there.”

“Noted.”

The shorter girl smiles in response, and performs a half-bow before moving off. (Unnecessary, but she’ll take it.) Over her shoulder, the Resident throws her a wave, and Carmilla lifts her hand in reply.

“Carm!” she hears behind her, and the youngest Shining Daughter whips around to see Matska’s outline at the end of the street. She breathes a sigh of relief. “ _There_ you are! I’ve been looking for you. Honestly. I let you go for a few hours and you get yourself _lost_.” Mattie’s heels click on the ground as she marches up to the younger girl.

Carmilla tries to squint her eyes in search of the mysterious, enchanting Resident, but she’s already disappeared. Dissipated into the night air.

“ _You_ were the one who suggested exercising our independence,” Carmilla argues, and sways as she lifts her hand up to accentuate her point.

Mattie laughs and grabs onto the Shining Daughter’s elbow. Her dark eyes flash with amusement. “You know I only did it to spare you a night of boredom. I rather wish I’d come with you. Getting drunk on cheap beer with my baby sister sounds so much more pleasant.”

“I’m not your _baby_ anything,” Carmilla grumbles, but the older woman only laughs more, and starts dragging her by her arm. She doesn’t have any choice but to submit.

Only when Carmilla is safe and sound in her bed, Mother on her lengthy journey across the Residential Areas already, does she realise that she still has no inkling of what the woman might be called.

* * *

Honestly, Laura doesn’t expect anything more than that one chance encounter with the enigmatic Carmilla Karnstein. It isn’t every night a Resident meets one of the Shining Family on the streets of a Residential Area, and it’s even more unusual for one of that family to promise a return to this dingy town. Except for Lilita Morgan, of course – but that’s her job. The others don’t have any obligations.

Still, if Carmilla really _did_ come back…

No. Laura can’t think about it. The Shining Daughter probably doesn’t even remember the conversation. (The factory owner’s daughter does. Every part of it.) She was drunk. (Not too drunk, the brown-haired girl wishes for against her better judgement.) She’s getting her hopes up for an impossible situation.

The wind whips around the factory, rattling the windows and banging on the doors. Ice and bitterness, combined in a sliver of movement. On the main factory floor, the workers shiver in response and tighten their shawls and jackets around their shoulders.

It’s warmer where Laura is, in her father’s office on the floor above. There’s a rudimentary fire and an old, rusty heater to alleviate winter’s touch. She’s glad it’s here, because Styria’s winters have always been awful, and she just does not have the patience for that right now. Right now, she just wants to curl up in bed and not think about her future or a job or any of the stupid expectations put on her. As it happens, she’s curled up on the sofa with a blanket and a book.

Full of propaganda, the book is meant to look like it’s from the Old Order. It’s a simple novel, nothing more, about the dangers of war and living in a war-torn country. The protagonist, Ariadne, falls in love with one of the boys stationed in her village, Rudolf. When Laura was younger, and could almost knock her head against her father’s elbow (she got her shortness from her mother), it was her favourite book. She used to spend hours re-reading it and imagining a fantasy land, where her own Rudolf would capture her heart. (Young Laura Hollis was clearly oblivious about which side she swung towards.)

The pages are dog-eared, the words grainy and printed slightly askew on the page. The words – the font, she thinks – seems so old, so jagged, compared to the overly round words she takes in daily. No pointed edges for the New World.

She’s not so enthusiastic about the story, now. In fact, she finds Rudolf a bit too cloying – a bit too overprotective, as well. No, Rudolf wouldn’t last long if he wanted Laura’s love – aside from the fact that he’s a boy, she already has her father to _more_ than fulfil the overprotection quota in her life.

Ariadne’s a lovely name, though. She thinks she’ll name a child that, one day. If not her own – because, really, has she ever had a choice about that? – then someone else’s, if she’s asked.

The ice cold air makes the windows of her father’s office judder. Laura squirms under her blanket to press more of the fabric against her.

(She misses summer.)

Dismissing that longing, she tries to immerse herself in her book again. Her father doesn’t return to the office until half an hour later, and it’s only because he forgot to pick something up. He places a kiss of her forehead before dashing out again.

The gale tries to batter the building. The pages try to join together. The blanket draped over her body falls a little, getting closer to her limbs.

 Gales. Pages. Draping. Gales. Pages. Draping. It’s easy to find a sort of calm in the midst of all these.

_“My love,” Rudolf warned. His damaged hands still possessed the most pleasant of abilities, the ability to be cautious and soothing despite their callouses and cracks. “My love, you must not go out there. This is not the world for you. I must – I must tell you, my sweet, that the horrors men must face will only ruin your bright, beating heart. You cannot join me on this. I forbid you to destroy yourself.”_

_Ariadne clutched onto Rudolf tighter. Her arms lay desperate against his firm back, against his broad shoulders, against the heat of his exposed skin. “Then stay with me. Won’t you stay? Won’t you run aw_ —

All of a sudden, the window on the opposite side of the room is flung open with a sharp _BANG!_ Laura’s body lifts a few centimetres into the air before she even has time to process this. Then the icy draught rushes around her - and suddenly she’s fully aware of the world around her, and aware of how she really needs to close that window. Her arms come up in goosebumps from underneath her scratchy woollen jumper as she flings the blanket off of her legs and scrambles to the other side of the room. She can only just reach the handle for the window, and only just secures the window in place once she tries her best to slam it shut. Already, her arm feels like the ice has infected it.

She’s so thankful it hasn’t been snowing yet. The Residents of Silas can only do so much in the wintertime.

Despite that, she finds Silas to be beautiful this time of year. Apparently this place used to be green, so green with forests and trees and so much life. The Old World did away with most of that, but what remains still holds a sort of beauty. And she’s not one to find beauty in desolation, but… when she gazes over the rolling lands, new trees standing alone and tall and proud, she knows that life is trying to restart itself again and she feels lucky. She feels lucky she gets to witness it.

As she watches, a dark figure catches her attention, much closer to her periphery than the distant wastelands, and shock suspends her limbs at once.

There shouldn’t be anyone here, not in the work hours, and she doesn’t know of anyone who would prowl around the edges of the factory land in an outfit like that. The person appears to be wearing a black cloak, a cape; their head is obscured by a hood and they lurk around in a way that spells only trouble for the factory owner’s daughter. Her body doesn’t move, but her mind races – _could_ she know anyone? _Should_ she know anyone? Should she alert her father, or the Factory Director?

What to do, what to do, what to do?

But then the shadowy apparition disappears from view in the time it takes for Laura to whip her head around to the door in her thinking and back - and there seems to be no point in raising concerns anymore.

Besides, she’ll be warm again if she huddles back underneath her blanket. She decides to continue as before, hopping around to stoke the fire and nudging the heater to get it to work before settling down in her position on the sofa again.

She gets to the halfway point of the book (she’s almost given up three times because both of the protagonists are as feeble as each other) before she’s interrupted again – this time, by the clamour of excitement coming from the workers downstairs. She stays put for a record three seconds before tiptoeing out of the office to take a peek.

(Laura’s never been one to turn down a possible adventure.)

Well, the workers haven’t stopped working – they’re just chattering excitedly to themselves. Fraying, plain shawls and knitted hats situated on factory tables covered by cloth veil their identities from her, but she knows their usual positions to be able to guess who they might be. Alice is gossiping with Edan, and Samuel almost trips over on his way to his station as he stares at the scene before him.

On the landing, just on the edge of the stairs, she surveys the factory floor, and follows the direction their heads are pointing. She spots the Factory Director, the man underneath her father’s position, conversing with someone – someone who must be quite important, evidently, if the reaction on the factory floor is anything to go by. She leans her head over the banister and cranes her neck; the black cloak edges into view, and she straightens up in meek surprise.

“Laura! Hey, Laura!” someone calls from directly beneath her.

Her head moves south on its axis. LaFontaine is staring up at her from their position on the dyeing table, one hand about to slip into the chemicals. From next to them, their mother notices and slaps their hand away from the pot before anything terrible can happen. “LaF! What’s happening?” Laura questions.

“Carmilla Karnstein’s come for a visit!” they explain, before leaning forward to watch the scene unfold in front of the workers. “I think - I think she wants a tour. You should say hello!”

Laura’s breath caught at the mention of the Shining Daughter’s name. Now, she sends her thanks to her ginger-haired friend and tiptoes down the wooden stairs, careful not to make too much noise. LaFontaine gives her a grin as she strolls past; the other factory workers spot her and immediately turn back to their clothes, checking her expression to make sure she’s not angry at them for deviating from their schedule. Laura smiles warmly at them as she walks, but she slows to a halt once she’s directly in the view of the Factory Director, Christoph.

Carmilla leans against the brick wall that makes up the stairs, hair falling over one side of her face as she pays attention to the Factory Director with one sharp eyebrow visible and arched. Her hooded obsidian cape is still intact, but underneath she wears that red shirt again ( _again?_ Does she know it’s Laura who made it?) and dark-coloured trousers designed to keep in body heat. Her back is to Laura, and the Factory Director is in full view of the factory owner’s daughter. His eyes show slight relief as he spots her.

“And this is the woman I was talking about,” Christoph informs the cloaked Shining Daughter, stretching a shaking arm out to introduce the factory owner’s daughter to the conversation. His palm, much lighter than the rest of his skin, faces upwards like an offering – and Laura takes it, hopping right in to introducing herself so Christoph can get some respite.

“Miss Karnstein,” she greets the older woman, and ducks her head in a half-bow. She starts to regret it, before she sees the smirk jolt into creation on the Shining Daughter’s pale face, and then it isn’t so bad. “It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here!”

“Mother always did take an interest in her closest Residential Areas,” Carmilla responds, smooth and eloquent and so different to the harsher dialects the young girl’s used to. “I am merely a lackey in the process of her ruling. Upon your arrival, however, I consider myself a willing lackey. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Hollis.”

Christoph’s eyebrows jump up in response, but he says nothing.

Laura smiles bashfully. “I hope your journey wasn’t too arduous, Miss?”

“Nothing unmanageable.” Carmilla stare pierces into Laura, dark eyes reaching places in the factory owner’s daughter that haven’t been roused so intensely before.

How can one person floor Laura so much? Especially a woman with a reputation for snark and misbehaving?

“With pleasantries put aside, shall we start the tour?” the Factory Director asks, renewed enthusiasm in his voice, clapping his hands together. He extends his hand out again for Carmilla to pursue her journey further into the main room of the factory floor, and she obliges. Christoph sends Laura a look as he follows.

And so does LaFontaine. Which, actually, she’s not appreciating right now. She feels like she’s being chastised for engaging in friendly conversation with someone, although she’s not quite sure why she feels like that.

The tour is as depressing as the winter shaking the foundations of the building from outside. Christoph seems to great pleasure in detailing the processes, adding in inconsequential and unnecessary facts along the way, and steadily gets more and more frantic once he realises that Carmilla couldn’t care _less_ about the regulations of the factory. The Shining Daughter in question is sauntering around the factory floor and the other rooms, dragging a hand over various objects and granting the Factory Director vague murmurs of assent and asking bane questions when she needs to. When Christoph mentions how this is below the Shining Family - which seems to be slotted into every other sentence – the black-haired woman rolls her eyes to herself.

And, actually, Laura can’t find it in herself to blame the Shining Daughter. There are plenty of things that Carmilla would rather be doing than hearing about annual electricity quotas. She knows she’sgetting tired of it, and she’s the daughter of the _owner_ of this place; she _should_ be interested. The younger girl tries to help about filling in awkward silences with anecdotes about her own times in the factory when she was younger, and the different successes of the business – but Carmilla doesn’t seem to care much for those, either. She certainly plays her part of the disaffected, broody daughter well.

“All right, I think we’ve shown you… all that can ever be shown in this building,” Laura concludes, arms hanging loosely at her sides. They’re in her father’s office; Laura made sure to push the blanket and book to the side should the Shining Daughter want to sit down. So far, the raven-haired woman hasn’t.

Carmilla nods. “I imagine that has been achieved, yes.” She opts not to say more, so an uncomfortable silence settles over them as Laura tries desperately to think of something else to say.

Christoph thanks Carmilla for her time and her grace when being shown around, before excusing himself on the grounds of “factory business”. Then he disappears down the stairs, and it’s just the two women.

Immediately, and surprisingly, the Shining Daughter flops down onto the worn sofa, and exhales in relief. “Is everyone as constantly formal as that, or is that just when they have any sort of conversation with me?” She pauses; Laura realises she’s meant to answer, but Carmilla gives up before she can muster up a response. “Don’t bother; I already know the answer to that.”

The factory owner’s daughter just stares.

A trace of smugness finds its way into Carmilla’s expression at the sight. She swings her legs onto the other side of the sofa and lays there, attention still on the other girl. “Like what you see, cupcake?” she drawls.

The honey brown haired woman has to hold on to the desk behind her; she’s suffering some considerable whiplash from this woman. One minute she can barely keep herself from scoffing, and the next Laura is pretty sure she’s flirting with her… or is just naturally very suggestive.

“I—just —um,” the factory owner’s daughter manages. Brilliant. She shakes her head and tries again. “That wasn’t my intention.”

The wind whistles from outside, but it’s not as violent as before. The window stays shut.

“Shame,” Carmilla quips. Her foot – no, her _boot_ , her muddy boot on Laura’s blanket – collides with the book and the raven-haired woman frowns as she peers down at it. As she sits up and bends over to collect it, the Shining Daughter continues, “Well, time to stop staring, Miss Hollis. I'm here now and I don’t plan on moving.”

The factory owner’s daughter bites her lip, lines on her forehead creasing. “What do you mean, you’re here to stay? I thought you were on, like, visiting business or something.”

A small chuckle. “Clueless,” Carmilla denotes, though her windpipes are slightly crushed as she leans forward, so it comes out strained. Having acquired the book, she rests on one elbow and flicks through it. Then, she tilts her head towards Laura and fixes her in place again. “You wanted me to come back. I came back. Your wish was granted.”

So, the girl with the cloak remembers. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who said ‘Until next time’. So you invited yourself,” Laura responds, finally getting up from her position and moving over to the other side of the sofa. She stares pointedly at the other girl, before Carmilla sits up in her sideways position and removes her legs from the sofa for Laura to sit. However, the tips of the heavy black boots rest against Laura, simultaneously dirtying her top and making it seem as if electricity is shooting up the joins at the sides of her torso.

“And why shouldn’t I? I'm a Shining Daughter; I can go wherever I please. Besides, you practically _begged_.”

The honey brown haired girl blushes bright red at the accusation and folds her arms, defensively spluttering, “I did not! I – I was merely trying to make conver—”

The other girl laughs, effectively interrupting her. Carmilla grins devilishly, “Oh, this is too easy. That bunched up little face you make when you’re angry is hilarious, buttercup.”

Not half an hour ago, Laura was pondering whether the girl in front of her would make a return to Silas. Not half an hour ago, she was reflecting on Carmilla’s civility and her grace. At this moment, she’s trying not to get too riled up by the same girl as she sneers at the brown-haired woman’s ex-favourite book and muddies Laura’s clothes. “I would appreciate it, Miss Karnstein, if you called me by my real name,” she responds, with a biting edge to her tone.

“Not gonna happen, cupcake,” Carmilla answers as if she’s been doing this for every minute of her life. She finally stops flicking through the pages and twists her head up to look at the factory owner’s daughter. “Are you seriously into this stuff? It sounds like it’s been written by a lonely UNISSA Guard.”

In truth, Laura doesn’t want to look less than favourable. But she can’t lie, either. “It was when I was younger…” she admits with an embarrassed grimace. “But, in my defence, all of the books we’re given are like that, always talking about the horrors of war and ending with a happy family. We’re never given anything else to read.”

Carmilla is silent. At first, Laura fears she’s overstepped her boundaries; she temporarily forgot, she reminds herself, that in front of her lies a Shining Daughter – someone with a direct connection to _Lilita Morgan_ , of all people. But then she glances over nervously to the raven-haired woman she’s thinking of, and is relieved to find Carmilla’s somewhat impressed by her statement.

So, good. Laura feels the air fill her lungs and rattle inside her windpipe as it leaves her once she breathes out deeply. She’s not going to die tonight – and maybe, maybe, she might have made a tentative friendship with the last person she expected to befriend.

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on paintedviolet.tumblr.com, or find me on @painted_violet on Twitter!


End file.
